Could it be because I only have access to a computer when Clay gets home and I have to share the time online with my daughter? Leaving me too tired after she gets done chatting to her bazillion little friends online? Or is it because I left the battery charger to my camera in Goodland and can't post new pictures? Or is it just me?
Friday, July 04, 2008
People, these questions are rhetorical, please don't answer them, please, please. My ego begs you not to.
Tomorrow we are having a bunch of people over to eat and play. I am not making anything on Pie Oh Dear Woman's blog. Crimeny. Doesn't that woman know what a hotdog is?
Actually I'm sick to death of hotdogs and hamburgers so I bought the biggest brisket I could find. That sucker looked like a Flinstone's size drumstick in my grocery cart. Then I came home and started hacking off the fat and shoving it in my crockpot. This is how I cook. I hack, cram and shove. No delicate folding of fluffy whipped cream. No whisking the batter. No chocolate curls. Just cram, hack, shove.
There will be no pictures of my hacked meat nor will there be directions of how to make anything in my kitchen. There will not be pictures of happy people shoving piles of hacked meat into their gobs. Nope. Because I am a boring blogger.
All I have are photos that my blogger friend took that I keep posting because they are so much better than any picture I will ever take in my life. This photo reminds me to tell you that I hacked off Clay's hair. See? I hack meat and I hack hair. And I have no way to prove to you that his hair is short. If this blog were a class I would be searching desperately for an excuse to tell my teacher why I don't have my assignment complete.
And then she would tell me that I've failed Blogger 101. That's when I start to cry just like I did when I was explaining to my Chemistry teacher that I'd just given birth to my second child two days ago and I needed to take the test I missed while I was in the hospital pushing forth one of the largest heads ever known to man......until my third child was born, but that's another story. And you know what? The tears worked. Or maybe it was the fact that he got a glimpse of my two day old infant and noticed that the baby didn't need one of those head support things in his car seat because he was the size of a four month old and I was just a wee bit wobbly and pale and probably a lot pathetic while I was standing there in my somewhat baggy maternity clothes sobbing because I was more concerned about a Chemistry test than my post natal situation.
And that brings me back to this blog. Hack. Shove. Cram.
Happy 4th of July. I'm going to go blow something up.